


Lifeblood

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [44]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bloodplay, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike and Buffy have hot bitey sex. The end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifeblood

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as _A Raising in the Sun_, _Necessary Evils_, et. al. (See the [Barbverse Timeline](http://sleepingjaguars.com/buffy/viewpage.php?page=timeline) for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series. This is actually a scene from a longer story which I haven't written yet, so at some future point you'll get a whole story to go around it. This was a charity ficlet written for Treiza, who asked for bitey.

She rose from their dust, flushed and triumphant, the stake grasped in her hand.

"Buffy..." Spike's voice was like the rumble of trucks on the highway outside, like the purr of the motorcycle still vibrating in her thighs.

He held out a hand--the same hand that had crushed the manager's skull so casually, the long fingers smudged grey-brown with the grit of dissolution. She took it--her fingers lost in the larger curl of his, her thumb stroking circles in the hollow of his palm. His eyes drifted closed, lashes drooping, and then with a swift movement he pulled her close.

Belly to belly they stood, and his head bent, low, lower, and he buried his nose in the crook of her shoulder and inhaled long and slow. She could feel his cock hardening as he breathed her in, as though her scent was an aphrodisiac. The red glow of neon through the half-drawn curtains bathed them both in blood. "You wanna play rough, Big Bad?" she whispered.

He let the breath out in a long low growl, half lust, half something darker, and licked the scratch on her cheek. "Always."

Her free hand clasped the back of his neck, fingers wound tight in the short soft curls, and pulled his mouth to hers for kisses--hard kisses, short, sharp, like punches to the gut. Spike kicked the door closed behind them as they fell to the bed, rolling over and over on the lumpy mattress. She squirmed under him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he struggled with the zipper of her jeans, their feet tangling as they kicked shoes to the floor. There should be a spell. A clothes-be-gone spell. She'd have to ask Willow about it.

Her purse fell off the corner of the bed. She thought briefly of the pack of condoms now spilling across the carpet along with compact and change and dismissed it--they'd gotten careless so many times already and nothing had happened; what difference would one more time make? He was still a demon, after all, heartbeat or no heartbeat, and she was still human. Mostly. Buffy fell back against the headboard, thighs lolling wide and wanton. Spike nosed the dark fluff between her thighs and growled. His fangs gleamed on the bloody light.

He arched above her, his body quivering in anticipation. The blunt velvety head of his cock nudged her fingers, begging for attention. Power sang in the sinewy lines of his body, in the golden sheen of his eyes. The shaft was cool and substantial in her grip. He groaned with pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as she caressed the slit with her thumb, mimicking the earlier circling of his palm. He was so much _fun_ to play with down there--she didn't know if it was true about uncut guys being more sensitive, but she could make Spike quiver and gasp and moan and fight for control with just a squeeze, just a flick of her tongue. She surged up and bit his nipple, hard, and Spike cried out and jerked against her hand. With a growl he seized her shoulder in his teeth, pinning her, thrust her knees apart, hard, and plunged inside without preparation--oh, he knew exactly how wet she was; he could smell it a mile away.

This was how it was, the feel of him inside her, the size and weight of him, the way he moved, the way he didn't move. Nothing fancy, nothing exotic, just Spike fucking her hard and joyful amidst the dust of their enemies in a cheap hotel room off I-5, and it was the end of the best date ever and there was no place she'd rather be. Buffy dug her nails into his back, keening with pleasure. She moaned and thrashed beneath him, straining for a completion just out of reach.

It was an accident. They both agreed about that, later, and that it was a miracle it hadn't happened before, all things considered. She bucked up just as he bit down, his fangs dug into her flesh, and when Slayer's blood floods your mouth hot and yummy, well, you _swallow_. She'd been bitten by vampires before, and OK, the one time with Angel had been disturbingly hot in a suicidal way...but mostly? It just hurt. A lot. And this...

Hurt.

But oh, such a good hurt. She was incandescent. Aglow. The neon throbbed in her veins, and the pressure-points where his fangs pierced the skin were electrical connections wired straight to her clit. The power coiled within her rose up and sang, calling to the answering potency in him. This wasn't surrender, this wasn't oblivion--this was a challenge, a dance, an endless circuit of vital essence given and received. Her blood, his jizz--oh, he'd come already, not that it made much difference. Where he got the willpower to pull away from _this_ she'd never know, but Spike tossed his head back, snarling, his eyes wide and blue. Screw willpower. She seized him by the hair and dragged him back down.

****

He'd tasted her before. Lots of times. Licked her wounds, feasted monthly on her red, glistening pussy. He loved it. And she loved it, loved the biting-games they played, loved the feel of his fangs grazing her skin, that reminded her she'd brought Death to heel and taken it to her bed. But he'd never bitten her. Never wanted to, really, and was always somewhat relieved she'd never really wanted him to either, because in the end, the bite was about the kill, about death's eternal hunger for life that could never be sated but with the destruction of what it desired.

It had never occurred to him that having a heart slamming against his ribs would change that. He might breathe from necessity rather than choice now, but he was still a vampire, craving blood and all it signified. Not Death's right-hand man on earth any longer, maybe, on account of the heartbeat, but it had never entered his mind that he could bite her, really bite her, without wanting to kill her. He didn't want to kill her; ergo, he didn't want to bite her.

He'd bitten a Slayer before, after all. Knew what it was to drain blood so potent that a mouthful set his veins ablaze and made him a god upon the earth, and feel that life pass to fuel his own existence. But tonight, one taste from that font of liquid fire and sensation scattered all his words to the four corners of his mind so he couldn't explain what he felt now, couldn't even examine it. _Don't want to bite her. Want to do this. But this is biting, innit? No, it isn't. What is it, then?_ And his brain couldn't answer, and his cock told it to shut the hell up and let him get on with the fucking, and as usual in such cases, his brain saluted its commander and followed instructions to the letter.

Buffy lay spreadeagled on the mattress, the golden lightning in her eyes fading now to storm-wrack grey. Her cheeks were flushed and her breasts were sheened with sweat. Half a dozen bite-marks marred the smooth skin, but he'd lost count of the times he'd come, pounding into her sweet swollen cunt with his fangs sunk blissfully into her flesh. The first ones were already healing, and he was obscurely relived that they were minor enough wounds to leave no scar. Seemed all he had to do to set off that incredible ouroboros of pleasure was sink his teeth in and hold on for a bit, leaving four small neat fang-pricks, maybe a quarter-inch deep, instead of the flesh-ripping double crescent of an all-out feeding bite. He lapped at the latest one, cleaning up the tiny warm rivulet of crimson trickling down her shoulder, and she made a happy little purry noise.

"What was that?" he whispered.

"I don't know." Buffy stretched, arms over her head. "It felt fantastic, therefore badness looms. But right now I don't care." She sat up, searching futilely for a portion of the bed that wasn't sodden with sweat or spunk or both. "Too bad we dusted the staff. I'm starving. So much for room service. Ooh! Are you hungry? We could get pizza! Two or three at least. Extra cheese."

"You're joking, right?" Probably hadn't swallowed so much as half a pint, if that, but he felt as if he'd eaten an orphanage. "'m not going to feed for a week."

She grabbed a pillow and thumped him. "But you're going to feed _me_, because I'm weak and dazed from your evil vampire thrall." She pressed her nose to his with a threatening pout. "See how weak and dazed I am?"

"It's..." He checked the clock. Bloody hell, that was impressive even for them. "...ten in the bleeding morning! More than six hours, I get to roll over and go to sleep. 'S in the contract."

"Uh huh." Buffy hopped off the bed in all her naked, bitten glory and pointed imperiously at the phone. "Dangly bits say you're the hunter, so hunt. Pizza. Now."

"Bossy little bitch." He swung his legs off the bed and sat up, toes coming in contact with the rubbish from her purse. He kicked the mess aside, and the packet of condoms skittered under the dresser. He started to reach after them, then shrugged and reached for the phone instead.

Not like they ever really needed the things, after all.

END


End file.
